You Wrap Your Thoughts in Works of Art
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: The last two remaining members of Torchwood try to make as much difference as they can during the time they have left - and promise each other what they'll have to do once the other is gone. Set during the year that never was.


**Author's Notes: I'm not completely sure where this came from. It was just in my head so I decided to write it and from then on I deemed it good enough to post it as well - and it was going to be longer but it's one on the morning and I'm not sure it's a good idea to keep going now. There aren't really any pairings to speak of; just very, **_**very **_**mild Gwen/Ianto and you'll see it only if you squint. It's rather advisable not to squint.**

**The song used is**_** I'm Yours **_**by The Script. I hope you enjoy the story and, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.**

_The day news came my best friend died_

_My knees went weak and you saw me cry_

_Say I'm still the soldier in__ your eyes_

"It's okay," Ianto whispered as his grip around Gwen tightened. "You'll be okay, I promise. I'll make sure you are."

Gwen smiled and her lips were far too blue, but at least she wasn't shivering any longer. He suspected that she was trying to supress the shivers and wished she wouldn't do that any longer; not when it could hint him to whether she was getting better or not.

"Sorry," she said, voice raspy, as she buried her face into his bare shoulder. She was dressed in nearly all the clothes she had brought with her and she was still freezing, but Ianto's body was burning and all the clothing he could stand happened to be a pair of jeans. Which was an advantage, at least right now. "I'm only making you cold as well."

Ianto snorted, amused. "Not sure that's possible. Honestly, though," he added when she still seemed worried. "I can't feel anything."

There was a good deal of relief mixed with horror in her eyes as she pressed herself even closer to him.

Ianto's temperature had been within acceptable levels hours ago but had now gone back to being so high that he wasn't even cold any longer. They'd raided an abandoned pharmacy a few days ago and he'd taken antibiotics, but the effect had yet to appear. 'Within the next twenty-four hours', the instructions had said, but he wasn't sure he'd last that long. At forty degrees, his whole body was on fire, his mind was painfully clear and he'd invited Gwen to use him as a portable heater if she wanted to, given the fact that her own temperature was slowly raising.

"Hey," he started again, nudging her in the shoulder. "If I don't live to see the end of this–"

"Shut up," Gwen snapped immediately. Her eyes were closed and her lips were pressed into a tight line, but her breathing was shallow and he could tell that she was trying desperately not to cry.

"One of us has to keep going," he said, voice as gentle as possible. "And if this keeps up, I might not even wake up tomorrow. And we both know that Saxon's watching us."

They'd agreed long ago – back when Tosh and Owen had been still alive – that they'd never call him Master, and they hadn't so far, but they knew that even in the small detached cabin in the Himalayas, they were still being watched. Ianto's guess was that everything was going straight to Jack.

Thinking of whom… Using bits of technology they'd brought with them from Cardiff, Tosh had managed to wire them up with a constant feed from the Valiant and, while it disappeared occasionally, they still got enough information to know the basics. Martha Jones – the Doctor's companion – was apparently looking for a weapon that could kill a Time Lord. The Doctor himself wasn't in very good a state, and the same went for Martha's family. Saxon's wife was, both in Ianto's and Gwen's opinion, too unstable to be either helpful or dangerous. Jack was practically kept on a leash and when Saxon was bored he lied using him as a plaything. He often talked about jack's team and even showed him pictures. Ianto found it rather surreal to watch himself on a screen into the screen and he'd often wished he could speak to the Captain just so he could tell him not to get so riled up and get himself into even more trouble.

"You're not going to die." Gwen's voice was firm and Ianto found himself smiling. He couldn't help but admire her for still doing this; for still caring even after they'd lost so much. It was rather unfair to have someone who could love so hard lose everything she held dear. Ianto hadn't really left anything behind in Cardiff; Gwen had had a life ahead of her.

"I'll try not to – hell, I've been trying not to since day one. But just in case I don't succeed – which right now is rather likely – promise to me that you won't give up. Give me your word so I can be sure that I've left the world in safe hands."

Gwen looked up from his shoulder then; her face had got some of its colour back, but her eyes were suspiciously shiny. She didn't look away, though; her gaze was as strong as she could get it to be while she tried to suppress yet another shiver brought to the surface by her fever. They were both ill and getting worse by the minute because of the cold and the wounds and the blood loss they experienced on daily basis, and yet none of them was about to admit just how bad it was. "Only if you do the same for me."

Ianto smiled again and let his finger trail down her cheek, the caress gentler than any touch they'd shared before. It was intriguing, he thought, how all the reservations had been melted away by the loneliness and the blind faith they'd put in one another. She was amazing, brilliant, and he didn't know how he hadn't noticed that before. "Always."

Just then, there was a knock on the door and they both looked up as a man entered to bring them dinner. Ianto and Gwen were usually the ones who went hunting for food – whether it consisted of stealing from the stashes of the squads that circled the area or actually hunting – but neither of them could actually coo, so they left it to one of the refugees. Neither of them spoke the language and most of the locals didn't speak English, but they managed to communicate somehow.

There were at least fifty people in seven rooms in total, and the Torchwood team (who'd brought the heating, the food, the news and the weapons – most of those yet again with the help of alien technology not that anyone had to know that) had got a room of their own since their first day. No one had come to sleep there now when there were vacant beds, probably out of respect for their losses, and Gwen and Ianto had remained on their own – which, given the circumstances, was probably for the best. They'd joined four of the beds in the room together so they could have more than enough space to sleep comfortably and still be able to share body heat.

"Thank you," Gwen said as she reached for their food. That much the man could understand as it seemed and he just nodded with a smile before leaving them to it.

It wasn't anything special – basically just meat from one of the goats they'd managed to kill – and Ianto grimaced, which made Gwen laugh. He answered her with a small laugh of his own; laughter was rare this days and it was always cherished when it came.

"You are such a brat," Gwen said, pointing at him with her fork. "I can't believe that you're going to be a picky eater even now."

Ianto felt his face flush with indignation. "I just don't like meat," he said defensively and tried to push the plate away, only to have his colleague shove it back in his direction.

"Explains why you're borderline anaemic," she commented. "Seriously, Ianto, we can't afford this right now. Eat up," she ordered and Ianto grumbled under his breath for a while – she did have that habit of trying to be his mother – but didn't protest any further.

And, just for a minute, everything felt like it was going to be fine.

**o.O.o**

Ianto's temperature had almost fell back to its natural degrees, but he wasn't bothered with paying attention to it any longer. It could be as high as it pleased. All the better if it could just fry his brain as well. It would definitely make things much simpler.

The hours went by and he hardly even noticed it. The first stars started appearing and he was still outside by the door, snow covering the better part of him to the point where he couldn't feel any of his limbs, and his weary eyes were still staring into the horizon and down the road where he'd lost her.

Toclafane. After everything they had gone through, everything that had happened during the last year, it was the _Toclafane_ that had to kill her. It should have been him and he knew it; he had been the one who had had smaller chances of surviving; he'd had to be the one to die. He had nothing left to lose and really, it would have been only a matter of time.

There was movement behind him – someone was coming out of the house – and Ianto waved away the woman that had suddenly appeared by his side. He didn't want dinner, he didn't want a jacket or whatever she had came to offer him. He knew that he had to stay alive and protect these people, but what was the point if he'd been unable to save her?

The woman sat down next to him anyway and Ianto huffed his annoyance, which didn't seem to bother her at all. "I'm sorry," she said at last. The accent was heavy over the words, but he could still understand her. "I know she meant a lot to you."

"Fat lot of good that is now," Ianto snapped and her brow furrowed in confusion. Okay, maybe idioms were a bit too much. "What's the point of anything else now?" He voiced his thoughts from just a minute ago. "What's the point of doing anything for anyone when nothing was enough to save her?"

"What's the point?" The woman's eyes bore into him and for a moment, Ianto felt uncomfortable under her scalding gaze. "Of course there's a point! If for nothing else – if not for all the people who rely on you – do it for her. Keep fighting because you promised her."

He was just about to ask how on Earth she knew that when the woman stood up, turned around and went back into the cabin.

His room, Ianto found, had suddenly became strangely cold and empty and way too big. No one dared to come in for the rest of the day. Or the next week, for that matter, even if he kept doing everything he could to make the life of the people here easier. Of course, the woman had been right – he had a duty, and for whatever reason, these people kept believing in him more than he deserved it. He was still the warrior they needed, even if he was alone. He had to do even the impossible to save them.

He'd even heard that Martha Jones would come to the Himalayas somewhere within the next month, which would be more than welcome if he wanted to do what he had to. He'd need help soon – and need it a lot.

He had to make sure that the world was in safe hands.


End file.
